So I have dreadlocks. I’ve had them for about six years or so. I keep them neat and well groomed and I am constantly hearing snide comments about how other people would “never do that” to their hair. Ironically, it is black people who tell me this, which is the cause of a great deal of consternation for me.
I understand how it happened. Being raised in the United States of America, we (black folks) have been systematically programmed to appreciate the European idea of beauty. We are raised to see long straight silky hair as a sign of beauty and anything that deviates from this idea is to be scorned and frowned upon. The older I get, the more disturbed I am by how programmed the American populace is to not accept people as is. We feel the need to “free”, “help”, “liberate” and change everyone and everything into our way of life. America is no longer about huddle masses creating a melting pot. We now fear everything not expressly like us and seek to change the world into idea of perfection. Hmmm…all that from a hairstyle choice…
I went to DC over the weekend and I enjoyed hanging out with friends. While there I went to the Smithsonian to see the exhibit on Rastafari. From the moment I stepped into the exhibit I felt something tug at my heart. No, I am not converting, but there was a exquisiteness in, not only the religion, but also the art, the music (which I have always loved), and the people. There was a purity I could feel. A purity of struggle that is shown on the lined faces and the locked hair of each person featured. There is a created joint identity that speaks to the “ital” or natural way the Rastafari live, eat and breath. My heart was captivated by the splendor of everything about their culture. I felt like Dorothy when she walked into the techno color world of Oz and realized she had finally seen true beauty.
Then, as if by divine intervention, I was brought crashing back to reality as a little girl, completely innocent in her question, asked her father why the black people had such “disgusting” hair. Quietly, I perused the exhibit waiting to hear what this father would say. I sensed his discomfort — after all, here I was dreadlocked and standing within close proximity, and he still had to think of a way to answer this innocent question without sounding judgmental. To his credit he pointed out that not everyone looks alike, and beauty lies within the eyes of the beholder. Even in his diplomacy something in his answer rang hollow for me. This exhibit would never hold the same sense of awe for them. It was an interesting exhibit that held no fundamental teachings or knowledge. It was a side show that would give an excellent talking point later in the day.
It came to me in that moment, that although I am not Rastafari, and most likely will never be, I am a black woman who constantly feels the need to explain and/or defend my race and cultural identity. It comes up in general conversations with friends, as a source of criticism from my black boss, and object of disdain from black folks I don’t even know. So, I have to question, why are black people so disturbed by the natural beauty we all hold? I guess there is a certain part of me that is slightly hurt and taken aback each and every time one of my relaxed sisters makes a negative comment about my hair. The mere fact that I always qualify the fact that my hair is locked with “I keep them neat and well groomed” speaks to my inability to completely let go that the idea of European beauty is correct. After all what is the alternative to “neat and well groomed”?
The alternative is the image of true Rastafari people with thick rope-like locks hanging down their back and in some cases from their beards. But, didn’t I just say I was struck by their beauty? This is the world in which we live– a world where we are constantly at odds with our true nature and God’s work of beauty in our lives. We seek to enhance and fix the work that God finished the day he created Eve.
What is the purpose of this post? I wish I knew. I am tired of discrimination and criticism based on purely aesthetic and inconsequential things. I am tired of value judgments placed on people in general because of outward appearances. I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t admit that I am also guilty of this when confronted with things I don’t understand or make me uncomfortable. I am ashamed that I do that.
We all want to be accepted in one form or another. There are those who actively live their lives as people “pleasers,” while there are others who march to their own beat. No matter which group you belong to, acceptance is an integral part of being human.
It is for that very reason I have a new found appreciation of the Rasta way of life. They have taken the very things that make us as a people of African descent and wholly embraced every nuance of what it means to be I and I (us). I am going to try to remember this lesson the next time I am tempted to make a value judgment, or the next time a sista asks me why I would “do that to my head.” My answer to each question is does it really matter? No, it doesn’t.
